


Salvo

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [32]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Sexual Content, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Deep Space Nine lies under a pall of paranoia that attack is imminent. Although Jake and Nog manage a temporary reprieve of stress for some of the crew, it’s not enough to break the tension for many. Garak makes the most of the calm before the storm and tries to encourage Julian to live more in the moment. Both civilians and Starfleet personnel plan their escapes while Bajor is forced to stand down for its survival. In the beginning salvos of the joint Dominion/Cardassian assault, Julian mans the infirmary until ordered to abandon the station. It’s a mad dash to the Defiant and all hands on deck. The Dominion War has begun.





	Salvo

**Part I**

_Garak  
The O’Briens’ Quarters_

“Are you certain the chief is comfortable with this?” Garak asked as soon as he stepped past the threshold, offering Keiko an Edosian orchid potted in Tolan’s special mixture. Along with the mask, the small bag of soil was one of the few things he’d kept from his former life in his exile. He could think of no more fitting use.

“Positive,” she said, beaming and accepting the flower with a soft noise of surprise. “It’s beautiful. And expensive. You shouldn’t have.” Molly stood on tiptoe to have a look for herself while Kirayoshi amused himself with a teething ring on a blanket on the floor.

“If anyone I know can keep it alive and care for it properly, it’s you. I have a fondness for them.” With his father dead beyond any hope of recall, he had been able to set aside his dread of the flowers as a message and reinstate them in a place of appreciation for simpler times.

Sticking her fingers into the potting mix as she moved to find the flower a place among her collection, she sniffed deeply. “What is this?” she asked.

“A secret family recipe,” he replied, his look mysterious. “It will last it a year, sometimes more depending on how you water. When you need more, I’ll be happy to replace it.”

“It smells so good and rich.” She set the planter down in a prominent place.

Molly bent her head to sniff and wrinkled her nose. “It smells like dirt. The flower smells better.”

“Very good dirt. Now, be a good girl and go work on your lesson while Garak and I talk.” She caressed the top of the girl’s head and bent to press a quick kiss.

“Yes, Mama.” Molly shot a final curious glance at Garak then made her way to the coffee table to kneel and get to work on a lesson plan laid out for her.

It was an improvement from his last visit, he thought, although he had to admit his mood this time around was vastly better. “It was kind of you to invite me. Is there anything I can help with?”

“You’re my guest. That means no working. Here, have a seat at the table.” She pulled out a chair for him, all smiles and easy charm. “I thought since both of us were deprived of dinner company tonight by the officers’ gathering, we could keep each other company instead. Also, it’s the perfect excuse to try out some new recipes I found for the replicator. I have a feeling you’ll like them, and I know Miles won’t.”

He took his seat and settled in, amused at the assertion. “I’m a test subject?”

She laughed. “Well, I am a scientist. Oh! I almost forgot.” She hurried over to the kitchen counter where a small bottle sat on a warmer and poured from it into two dainty cups. Garak noticed steam curling from them when she brought them over and held one out for him. “Have you ever had sake?”

“No.” He shook his head. “What is it?” The cup was hot between his fingers. He liked that.

“Hold it at the rim, or—” She tipped her head curiously as she realized he wasn’t fazed by the heat. “Never mind. It’s rice wine, a traditional drink from my culture. It’s meant to be sipped.” She took a small sip to show him. “Some types are better served cold. I prefer it hot.”

“I always prefer hot drinks,” he said, “at least here. Cool beverages were refreshing in the summer back home.” He tried not to be too obvious about sniffing the contents of the cup before hazarding a sip. It was like nothing he’d ever tasted before. He held it in his mouth to extract more of the flavor then swallowed.

“Do you like it? You won’t offend me if you don’t. I’ve been told it’s an acquired taste. Miles isn’t fond of it.”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t dislike it.” He took another sip. “You know, it fascinates me that you humans have separate cultures. While my people differ a bit in skin tone from the polar to the equatorial regions of our planet, we don’t consider one another separate races. Lakarian City is more rural than Cardassia City, far older. The citizens of each don’t call themselves Lakarians versus Cardassians. When we spread out to separate planets, we were still all Cardassians.” He had no intention of getting into Hebetian culture with her.

“It goes back thousands of years for us,” she said. “Well before recorded history. Our migratory patterns and differences in climate and sun exposure led to changes in our physiology. Populations became isolated by mountains, islands, dangerous forests, all sorts of pressures. Cultures formed in that isolation and persisted when we came in contact with each other. Having no exposure to aliens, I suppose our differences seemed more significant than they actually are. If you’re interested, I have several files I’d be happy to share with you about it.”

He was surprised to discover this sort of conversation was easier to have with Keiko than with Julian. She wasn’t defensive and didn’t seem to be pushing an agenda beyond an exchange of knowledge. “I would like that. I’m afraid I can’t make a similar offer in regard to Cardassia.”

“I understand. It’s fine.” She sipped from her cup and set it aside. “I’m going to get to work replicating dinner. We can still talk. Tell me more about how you got into gardening?”

“My father was a fine gardener,” he began. It was gratifying to speak of Tolan, names and locations changed, details shifted, yet the underlying truth remaining of the stolid, uncomplaining provider who raised him with what, in hindsight, he realized was love, rarely expressed verbally, rather shown in the care with which he taught him how to plant, weed, mulch, and grow. He would take Tolan’s grounded silences over Tain’s verbose speeches any day now.

In turn, Keiko spoke of her grandmother’s graceful calligraphy, how she helped her with her rinse cup so that she could watch her for hours, and her upbringing in Japan. All the while, she produced gorgeously arranged boards covered with colorful strips of raw fish atop oval balls of rice or wrapped in dark seaweeds, fanciful bundles of strings he couldn’t put a name to, orange and white, with green paste and something pale yellowish, very thinly sliced.

“I’m afraid to contemplate eating any of this,” he said, eyes wide. “It’s far too beautiful.”

“Food should be a feast for the eyes as well as the palate,” she said. “This is called sushi. There are more specific names for everything I won’t bore you with.”

“I assure you, I am anything but bored. Please...” He gestured at the table.

“Well, all right, but only when we’ve started to eat. I’d like to let Molly hear it, too.” She set a stoneware bottle at the center of the table she fetched from the kitchen, along with three tiny shallow bowls at each place setting. “Molly, go wash up for dinner.”

The girl quickly jumped up from her lesson and darted into the bedroom. Keiko picked up Kirayoshi to bring him to his highchair and get him ready to eat. Garak watched with quiet interest. The addition of a bib had him smiling to himself. Cardassians used something similar when the children were too young to regulate themselves at the table. She replicated different foods for him, very unappetizing looking things, but also made sure he had a few of the oval rice balls without the fish. He immediately set to it all, his hands and face soon smeared with various colors and textures while he fed himself.

Molly returned from the bedroom and climbed into her chair to kneel. She picked up a pair of sticks and eyed the table setting. “Oooh, it’s so pretty! You didn’t say we were having sushi!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” She took one final quick trip to the kitchen to bring back the sake bottle in one hand and both a fork and two of the slender sticks in the other. She set the bottle within reach of her and Garak and set the utensils next to his plate. “If you don’t know how to use chopsticks or don’t care to try, it’s perfectly fine for you to use the fork or even your fingers.”

“I’ll show him how,” Molly offered.

Garak watched her attentively. It took a bit of fiddling until he felt the balance of it. He found them much more elegant than forks and decided this wouldn’t be the only time he ate in such a way. If he could get Julian to pick them up, maybe he’d stop cramming his food like a starved riding hound.

“Wow, you learn fast. It took me a long time to get it right,” Molly said.

“My hands are bigger,” he said modestly.

Keiko smiled at both of them, checked on Kirayoshi, then lifted her chopsticks. As promised, she named each type of fish and told them something about the preparation, as well as showing him the proper way to eat it and what the condiments were for. She poured dark sauce from the stoneware into the three small dishes and dipped only the fish side, not the rice.

He had the same issue with it that he had with all replicated foods, the texture and flavor a touch off and an underlying sameness of everything if he focused too closely while chewing. However, it was leaps and bounds better than most other Earth cuisine he’d tried. He could easily see _wanting_ to eat the real thing if he ever got the chance. That was more than he could say of the English food Julian insisted he’d develop a taste for if he ate enough of it.

“What do you think?” she asked. She had been watching him from the start, little glances he found endearing in her obvious desire not to offend.

He chuckled low and set his chopsticks aside so that he could serve himself more of the sake. It complimented the food. He decided he liked it after all. “I think you’ve managed something few ever do, to keep me quiet during a meal because the food deserves all the focus.”

Kirayoshi gleefully grabbed the edge of one of his bowls and tipped the entire thing onto the floor with a squeal.

“Yoshi!” Keiko wailed. 

Molly stifled her giggles with both hands clamped to her mouth. She leaned toward Garak to whisper, “It’s always the peas.”

Keiko jumped up and began cleaning up the mess. While she bent over, Garak saw the boy grab the edge of another bowl. In a flash, he was out of his seat and around the table just in time to catch it and stop him from tipping the revolting contents onto her head. 

She looked up at him, startled by his speed, then took in the rest of the situation and sighed. “Thank you.” Straightening, she set the bowl on the table out of the baby’s reach and began taking up the other bowls, too. “Mister Man has decided he’s a comedian. It’s the most hilarious thing in the world to make Mommy jump and pick up things.” She leaned over Yoshi and made a silly face. “Isn’t it?”

He laughed happily and reached for her with both filthy hands.

“Oh, no. Not before we wipe that off.” She made a game of catching them with her napkin.

Garak stepped out of the way and slowly returned to his seat. His earliest memories of Mila were of exasperation and scolding. He had no doubt he brought all of it upon himself. He was full of mischief and trickery from the moment he started crawling. Had she ever looked at him with such unadulterated love and joy? He suddenly missed her very much, scoldings and all, and hoped that the reports the captain had sent his way were accurate, that Cardassian citizens weren’t being abused by the Dominion troops stationed there and that food shortages had actually eased.

“Are you done eating?” Molly asked.

“I believe I am,” he said. “My tongue tells me I should have more. If I listened to it, my stomach would be sorry.”

“I get that way with ice cream. Daddy says if I eat too much, I’ll pop.”

“That’s a rather gruesome thought, isn’t it?” he asked. She blinked at him in incomprehension. He remembered that she had probably never seen death or violence of any sort and quickly added, “Ice cream everywhere? All over the walls and ceiling?”

She giggled and built on it. “Dripping and melting all over the place with chocolate chips stuck in it!”

Keiko laughed at both of them. “That sounds horrible. I’d make your daddy clean it up, because he’s the one who makes those huge bowls in the first place.” She swung Kirayoshi onto her hip. “Are you all right by yourself with Molly for a little while? I’d like to get this little man cleaned up and ready for bed.”

“I believe we’ll find a way to occupy ourselves, won’t we?” He winked at the little girl.

“With ice cream?” she asked hopefully.

Instead, he managed to convince her that it would be a nice surprise for her mother if they cleaned up the table while she was tending Yoshi. When it came to chores, she was competent and conscientious, not content with stuffing everything into the recycler but insisting on wiping down Yoshi’s highchair. He took a cloth to the table. Both of them were finished and at the coffee table looking at pictures when Keiko returned to them.

“Oh, Garak, you truly didn’t have to,” she said.

“I didn’t. Your daughter is surprisingly efficient and industrious.” He met the girl’s sudden grin with a conspiratorial look and a twinkle in his eyes.

Keiko narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it but too polite to contradict him. She gave Molly some time to color and show off her drawings to both of them before sending her off to bed, too. After the bedroom door closed, she settled on the sofa and allowed some of her tiredness to show. “It was kind of you to indulge her. Miles and I have been trying not to let on how concerned we are about the escalation on the border. I’m really afraid I’m going to have to take Molly and Yoshi to Earth if things get much worse. I want them to have good memories of the station for the times to come. Thank you.”

“I’m concerned, too,” he confessed. “Julian is...well, Julian. You know he rarely complains about work, and there are good reasons for him not to discuss the finer points with me. Lately, however, I’ve felt an oppressiveness, a pall over the entire station.”

“Yes!” She nodded emphatically and leaned forward. “That’s exactly how it feels. Like there’s this weight over everything. Or heavy clouds before a storm.” She paused for a long time, clearly wrestling with whether to say something else or not. Garak’s receptive silence gave her the space for it. “It’s hard being a civilian spouse sometimes. I miss serving on the Enterprise, but this transfer was a good move for Miles. I also wanted more time to spend with Molly and of course, now there’s Yoshi. It’s just...”

“You’re not useless,” he said.

She blinked in surprise.

He chuffed air through his nostrils. “It’s an oversight in Cardassian culture, too, all of this talk and glorification of service to the state, the military, conquests and heroic defense, when behind every glinn, gul, and legate is a mother, some of them in Central Command also, many of them keeping society turning from the ground up. Where would any of us be without teachers and mothers, engineers and scientists? Where would the chief be without you?”

She dropped her head forward a moment with a complex interplay of emotions across her features. “I needed to hear that. It’s not that Miles isn’t appreciative. He’s busy, and I don’t like to burden him when he comes home exhausted from keeping this station together with bandages and string.”

“I’m a civilian living with a Starfleeter. I believe we have more in common than most would see on the surface.” He could relate to much of what she said, especially about not wanting to burden her husband. Julian had been so down lately, he had been very circumspect about what topics he was willing to discuss with him.

The hiss of the door drew both of their attention to the chief, his steps unsteady and his face flushed. Garak and Keiko both stood, exchanging one surreptitious glance that prompted him to say, “I believe this is my cue to bid both of you a good night.”

Keiko tucked herself in against her husband’s side and drew his arm over her shoulders. On the surface, it looked affectionate. Garak had no doubt it was to support him in his intoxication without drawing undue attention to it. He could smell the strong odor of that horrid beverage Julian liked to drink with the chief from where he stood. “You don’t have to run off right away,” she said.

“No, yer welcome t’ stay,” the chief said.

“Another time,” Garak offered. “Perhaps Julian and I can invite all of you to a dinner soon. I believe that would be most enjoyable.”

“We’d love that,” Keiko said, squeezing her husband and shooting him a prompting look.

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. All right then. Good night, Garak.” He lifted a careless wave.

Garak paused before both of them, inclining his head, and stepped quickly out into the corridor. He had no intentions of ever having dinner with the entire O’Brien family, especially in quarters he shared with Julian. It was plausible enough to disentangle him without causing offense. If the chief was drunk, he surmised Julian would be, too. Just lovely.

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

The dull throb of his hangover was the least of his discomforts upon awakening in the darkness of the bedroom alone. Some of last night was a blur. Some he recalled in excruciatingly embarrassing detail, coming on to Garak sloppily and being unable to perform, Garak putting an unceremonious stop to it all by retreating to their other bedroom several levels down in the H-ring, and the coup de gras, making a huge mess in the refresher and having to clean it up before he could fall into bed and hope for the walls to stop spinning. He couldn’t recall if he’d asked him about his dinner with Keiko and the kids before he threw himself at him. He had the sinking feeling he hadn’t.

“Computer, what time is it?” he croaked.

“The time is 0600 hours.”

There was a small mercy. He hadn’t overslept and would have some time to clean up and make himself presentable for work. Sitting up, he let the blanket fall away and scrubbed hard at his crusty eyes. Spots danced across his vision. Smacking a couple of times, he scowled at the aftertaste lingering in his mouth. Maybe it was for the best Garak had abandoned him for the night. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and fumbled his way into the refresher.

By the time he emerged, he felt a little better. He dressed in his spare uniform and opened the bedroom door. There was Garak puttering around the dining table, fully dressed and putting the finishing touches on what looked like a very elaborate spread of food. “Sushi?” he asked, confused.

“Yes,” he said, glancing up at him. “I intended to awaken you. Imagine my shock when I discovered not only were you out of bed but showering.”

“Sushi for breakfast?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it. “_Earth_ food. You’re choosing Earth food for breakfast?”

“Japanese food to be precise,” he corrected him primly. “Now, please, do sit. I’m not entirely sure that replicated raw fish will spoil as quickly as the real thing, but why tempt fate?”

He took his place and noticed only chopsticks next to his plate. “As it happens, I can use these,” he said. He lifted them for a deft demonstration and began helping himself from the boards.

“I should be cross with you. You’ve subjected me to all manner of Earth dishes through the years, all the while withholding something you had to know I’d enjoy.” Garak served himself also. If he felt any lingering annoyance at Julian for the night before, he didn’t show it.

He laughed and shook his head. “It’s not easy to find off Earth. For that matter, where did you get this? It’s not in the replicator.”

“It is now. You should thank Mrs. O’Brien for sending me the recipes. It’s my understanding it took her some effort to obtain them.” He began to eat, managing to look even more fastidious than usual with the chopsticks.

“So you did enjoy yourself,” he said, taking a bite.

“So you do care.”

Aha. There was the rebuke he’d expected. He felt his cheeks heat. “I’m not going to try to make excuses for last night. I drank far too much far too quickly, and—”

“When is the last time you did something just for you?” he cut him off and pinned him with an incisive look. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Research, a holosuite program, prancing about in one of those costumes of yours. Playing tennis. When?”

His brow furrowed. Garak had seemed to take perverse pleasure lately in upending his every expectation of how their conversations might go or what his reactions might be when he had legitimate reasons to be annoyed with him. “A while. A long while.” He looked in his glass for the first time and saw it was plain water. No, not plain water he realized when he sipped it, an electrolyte solution that went strangely well with the unusual breakfast. He started wondering if Garak was nursing a guilty conscience or preparing him for a favor. He was rarely so thoughtful and much less inclined to be so after a drunken scene.

“You’ve said so yourself lately. The station is quiet. I doubt you’re treating a large influx of patients. Pick something and do it.” He sipped his hot fish juice, never lowering eye contact over the rim.

“Is that an order?” he asked playfully. It was nice to feel something besides frustration and dread.

“If you need it to be, then yes.” Garak didn’t smile, yet there was a sparkle in his eyes Julian loved to see and hadn’t seen nearly enough of lately.

The two of them ate while Julian mulled his options. “There’s some research I’ve been meaning to get back to,” he said. “I keep putting it off for one thing or another. It’s low priority by Starfleet standards but not mine. You won’t be upset if I get absorbed and keep strange hours for a while?”

“I would be delighted to see you keeping strange hours devoted to something that interests you besides scotch and upsetting news from the border.” After polishing off his juice, he stood to begin clearing the table.

The comment stung, not because it was unfair but because he knew it was true. He’d been hitting the bottle heavily lately and glowering over losses he wasn’t at liberty to share with Garak yet suspected he knew about nonetheless. For Garak’s part, he’d stuck to his diminishing work load, socialized as usual, and been...unusually agreeable. He watched his back then abruptly shook himself from his thoughts to help with the clean up. “I’ve been wretched company.” He stopped him from the side with a hand to his waist and his chin to his shoulder. “I’ll do better.”

Garak set the empty board into the recycler and activated it to free his hands. He turned Julian to face him. “Do better for you,” he said firmly.

“I know you’re worried, too. It has to be worse for you with the Dominion—”

He stilled him with a cool finger to his lips. “Are we to compare woes? To what end? If I start abusing kanar or behaving erratically, you have my permission to worry about me. I’m all right. Yes, I’m concerned. We all are. If you want to ease my mind, do as I’ve said. Focus on something else. You’re at your best when you set your mind to meaningful work.”

“I’m at my best with you,” he corrected him and nuzzled in for a soft kiss. Both of them wrinkled their noses afterward. “Fishy,” Julian said.

_The Infirmary_

It was true. What he’d needed was an intense challenge to his intellect that didn’t involve high stakes and suffering. He returned to his prion experiment after a five month hiatus with the feeling he’d never left it. Equations that had given him problems at the outset came more easily now. It wasn’t hard to imagine his subconscious had been chewing on the solutions quietly in the background all this time.

His staff knew better than to interrupt him. Hours flowed by with no awareness of the passage of time on his part. He took samples, treated them methodically with various newly synthesized reagents, and observed the proteins changing structure, or failing to do so, dependent upon how they were malformed and what chemicals he applied. Of course, it was all highly theoretical. Just because they did something in one of his solutions didn’t mean they’d behave the same way in an organism. It had been fascinating enough to learn that prion diseases were common throughout the galaxy with few exceptions, all the more so to discover that it was a relatively few number of proteins responsible for them.

If he could untie the knot, almost literally, he could ease suffering from Berengaria to Quo’noS and on many worlds between. His only interruption was a particularly annoying one, Nog and Jake up to some nonsense and probably wanting to play a prank on someone to get them to drink an anaerobic solution. Not the worst thing they could do, it wouldn’t be fatal. He sent them on what he believed to be an impossible mission to fetch Kukalaka from Leeta and pushed the entire incident out of his mind for many more hours.

His stomach pulled him up for air. Sushi wasn’t a cling to the ribs sort of breakfast, and he’d not eaten or drunk a thing since. He stretched both arms wide, twisted his neck side to side, and decided to call it an evening. It took him less than ten minutes to shut down the equipment for the night. He tucked his PADD into the drawer and locked it with his code, waved to Frendel, and emerged from the infirmary yawning widely enough to creak his jaw.

He thought he might fall asleep standing up on the turbolift ride. It must have been late. He had it to himself all the way to his H-level. He yawned again heading into his quarters, eyes closed and watering. He cleared them to the sight of an old friend on his couch. “What?!” He rushed forward in four long strides to sweep the teddy bear up into a tight hug. “I can’t believe it!”

He saw a message light flashing on his comm, Garak telling him he’d be welcome to join him if he wished regardless of the time and ending with a droll comment about not wanting to get between him and his fuzzy visitor. He hailed Frendel to tell him to have five liters of anaerobic metabolites suspended in hydrosaline solution delivered to Jake and Nog’s quarters. They had earned it.

All he needed to do was to strip from his uniform, dress in something more comfortable, and clean his teeth so that he’d have nothing left to do but to change into pajamas once he reached Garak. He tucked Kukalaka into his shirt on the off chance he ran into Leeta on his way there. He didn’t care how the boys got hold of the bear. He would never give him up again without a fight.

The lighting in the other quarters was subdued, the bedroom door open. The bedroom itself was dark. He thought he saw Garak’s eyes glint a reflection and wasn’t surprised when he said, “Productive day?”

“More than I imagined it could be.” He fished the bear from his shirt and crawled up onto the bed to sit with his back against the wall near the head of it. “I don’t believe I ever formally introduced you two. Kukalaka was my very first patient.” He beamed and made the toy wave at Garak. “This is Elim. You’ll have to share quarters with him now.”

Garak rolled to his side to face him and propped himself on an elbow, head in his hand. Enough illumination came through the doorway to cast his features in a faint tracery of light and deep shadow. “I hope you’re not expecting me to say hello.”

Julian heard the rich amusement in his voice. “No. I imagine to you it’s entirely too silly.”

“It’s not that.” Garak’s teeth flashed in a discreet grin.

“Oh?” 

“He has no business knowing my given name this early in our association.”

He set Kukalaka aside carefully on the nightstand to descend upon Garak with a flurry of unreserved kisses to his cheeks, eyes, forehead, nose, lips and chin. “I don’t know why you’ve been so indulgent of me lately. I appreciate it so much I can barely contain it,” he said.

“You think it necessary to try?” Garak basked in the affection and returned it with a will.

It reminded Julian of the early days of their relationship, when they were still learning one another and speaking solely with gestures and touch, too uncertain to say the things they’d come to admit openly later. Only it was better, because they both knew where and how to please each other best. The mood stayed light at first, laughter giving way to gasps and back again. For one night he let go of questions and wondering whether Elim truly felt as free as he seemed or only put on an amazing show of it for his benefit.

In time, the bed could no longer contain them. They spilled onto the floor then later yet out into the sitting room for the sturdy support and options of the couch. They took turns giving and receiving, tasted of one another as hungrily as the first time. It ended in exhaustion and a tangle of limbs and blankets in a sprawl beside the space port. It ended in a final susurration of Julian’s laughter with Elim’s arch statement, “I hope the bear won’t be joining us.”

_Garak  
Garak’s Clothiers_

It was a beautiful dress. Leeta twirled in it to make the knee skimming hem flare. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think you have an excellent tailor,” he purred.

“So modest, too.” Skipping over to him, she kissed his cheek and quickly wiped her lipstick away from the spot. “It’s perfect, Garak. Our perfect little secret. I love it so much, I want to wear it every day until the wedding. Quark would probably frown on that.” She couldn’t contain herself, having to squeeze him and bestow another kiss.

“Really, Leeta,” he chided in protest. “Is this necessary?”

“No, but the way you stiffen like a hara cat and scrunch your face just makes you even more tempting.” She wiped away the second print and stood back to check him for residue. “All proper again. Oh, gosh, I’m going to be late for work!” She ran back to the changing room. After some muffled cursing and a few billows of the curtain from the inside, she emerged in her Dabo girl outfit. “Be a dear and keep this in the back until I can pick it up later?” she asked.

“Of course.” He took the dress from her and watched her flee. She was such a force of nature when she was happy. It pleased him to be the source of it this time. He supposed if that meant being too familiarly handled now and then, he could bear it. In the back, he slipped the dress into an opaque garment bag, labeled it with her name, and hung it just inside the storeroom.

“Guess what!”

He had almost hit her before registering it was Ziyal springing at him from right beside the storeroom door. He aborted the strike and straightened his tunic with a severe tug. “What have I told you about startling me?” he asked.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She obviously wasn’t. She was too excited for remorse. “Jake and I are going to send in our project for publication. He has a contact who says she’s interested. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It is,” he agreed. He offered his arm to her. “Walk me out of the shop. It’s getting late.” He killed the lights on the way out and locked up. “Have you drawn up a contract?”

Hugging his arm with both of hers, she sighed. “I knew you’d be like that. All contract, blah blah, and look after your own interests, blah blah.” She tugged on him. “Just be happy for me. This is something we’ve been working on together forever, and it’s getting attention on its own merits. We’re using pseudonyms, so no one will say, ‘Oh, it’s that Sisko kid,’ or, ‘I’m not reading this! Gul Dukat’s daughter drew it.’”

“I am happy for you. I’m also going to insist we talk about the contract if you get a firm offer from the publisher. Someone has to look out for you, and while Jake is a nice enough young man, he can also be on the irresponsible side. Did you hear about the trouble he and Nog made with the Kai?”

“There was a whole side to that nobody knows about,” she said, frowning. “Something so unbelievably sweet I almost died when he told me.”

She was truly, unabashedly in love, he realized. The shine in her eyes and the tone of her voice told him all he needed to know. He changed what he’d intended to say. “Is it something I get to hear about, or are you meant to keep the secret?”

“I think it’s safe to tell you now. He went through this whole, big, elaborate thing to get his dad a mint condition baseball card. You know that auction they had at Quark’s? He tried to buy it there, but someone outbid him, and then it was this huge deal going through all these different people to get a bunch of stuff for some weird guy. He lied to his father, telling him he was drunk so he wouldn’t know why he actually implicated the Kai in kidnapping and extortion—”

“Which was part of getting the card?” How she could say so much with barely a breath he couldn’t imagine. 

“Exactly. Did you know Weyoun kidnapped them?” She widened her eyes and glanced quickly around. “Phekk, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”

He arched an eye ridge. “There’s a new word.”

The look she shot him was worthy of someone twice her age. “Garak. Seriously?”

He held up a hand in innocence. “I know. You’re grown.”

“Anyway, Jake talked them both out of trouble, and everything worked out in the end. Please, don’t say anything to anybody about that last part. I think Captain Sisko would string Weyoun up by his toes if he found out. Things have been tense enough without that.”

That brought to mind something else he intended to talk to her about. He took her to the jumja stick kiosk and bought her the last of the moba fruit flavor before it shut down for the night. She took the stick with a gracious bob of her head. He could see suspicion in her gaze just before she lowered it to enjoy the treat. She recognized his bribe for what it was.

“Do you have a plan for what to do if the Dominion attacks the station?” he asked.

She made a sour face around the sweet. “Nerys has been talking about that. She has some friends she says I could stay with. I don’t know. I’m afraid of a repeat of Cardassia with no one around to help me. _You_ could come.”

He shook his head. “No, dear. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be safe on Bajor, and if I were with you, neither would you.”

“You think the Bajorans would hurt you? Even Nerys’ friends?” She lowered the stick out of her way. “What about Aroya? Didn’t she buy a farm? I bet she could use help. You know all about gardening.”

“Slow down, Ziyal.” The only time he had seen her so manic was when she was having trouble regulating her memories of the camp. Was that it? She was afraid? “It’s not the Bajorans I’m worried about.” That wasn’t to say he’d put it past some of them to want him dead. Those wounds ran deep. “If a single word made its way to the Dominion about me hiding out on the planet, I wouldn’t bet a lek on my survival or that of anyone unfortunate enough to be sheltering with me at the time.”

“They hate you that much?” She thought about it and nibbled at the top of the stick. “Of course they do.” Her expression fell. “Do you think it’s going to happen? Do you think they’ll attack?”

He nodded. She was too old to coddle. “I don’t know when. I’d guess soon.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“Probably with Julian and the other Starfleeters if they’ll have me.” It was an uneasy topic. He’d been asking himself the same question for weeks now in private. “If they won’t, I’ll try to catch a freighter from Bajor to Lissepia.”

“Julian wouldn’t let them kick you out. I don’t think Jake’s father would, either. He’s a good man.” She took a couple more bites and offered it to him. “It’s too sticky. I can’t eat anymore.”

“It’s too sweet for my taste.” He found a public recycler and tossed it. “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled your good mood. It wasn’t my intention.”

She hugged his arm again now that her hands were free. “You can make it up to me by reading to me. I think you may owe me a few more hours.”

“I could read to you an entire month and not make up the time. Come on, then. Preloc?” He led her toward the turbolift.

“How about Iloja of Prim? Dax introduced me to his works a few weeks ago.”

“First Republic serial poetry? I never would have guessed it of her. Very well. I have a couple of volumes on file.” He decided this would work out nicely with Julian having a drinks and darts date with O’Brien. When he felt this way, the only thing better than a quiet night in was a quiet night in with good company.

**Part II**

_Julian  
The Promenade_

The arrival of regular Dominion convoys killed everyone’s rallying moods over the next few weeks. Julian stopped to stand with the small crowd of Bajorans, Klingons, and a few human crew members to watch from the large star port. He could time it down to the last nanosecond when the wormhole would open wide and disgorge its travelers. He used to find the wormhole beautiful. Now he loathed the sight of the gaseous blue swirl against velvet black, a poisonous flower broadcasting deadly seeds.

He looked away as soon as the Dominion ships cloaked. What was Starfleet waiting for? Every convoy meant more shock troops, more resources. With the Cardassians at their backs, he could only imagine them salivating at the trough of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. He worried that Bajor was too vulnerable and in the worst possible position should war break out. The captain had been wise to tell them to hedge their bets, but now it seemed options narrowed by the day. He knew what he’d advise the Council of Ministers. He was glad not to be the Emissary.

_Quark’s Bar_

It seemed they were hit with one unsettling bit of news after the next and still no word from Starfleet about their plans. He needed these darts dates with Miles lately, and he suspected the chief needed them just as much. It was the only time they could set aside their fears and just enjoy each other’s company for a little while.

Miles was late. It was nothing new. He stepped away from the board and ordered a synth ale from Quark. Looking around the nearly empty bar depressed him. The Dabo girls stood around clearly bored, and after delivering his drink, Quark went back to disconsolately polishing already gleaming glasses. Not even Morn had an engaging story. He peered into his drink as though it held the answers to the universe at the bottom.

He tapped his comm badge. “Bashir to O’Brien,” he said.

“I know. I’m comin’. Jus’ give me a bit,” the reply came in a harried tone.

“Just checking. Bashir out.” He took an unenthusiastic swig of the ale and let out a low sigh.

“Don’t,” Quark said, shooting him an annoyed look.

“Don’t what?” he demanded. “Drink? I paid for it.”

Quark rolled his eyes. “Sigh like that. It’s bad for business.”

He scoffed. “What business? If it wasn’t for me and Morn, you’d have no one but your staff to keep you company.”

Morn glanced over and shook his head as though to say, Leave me out of it.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Quark said glumly.

He opened his mouth for a retort and closed it again. He could hardly blame Quark for his depression. This was his livelihood. How much was it costing him to keep the doors open when no one came to drink or use the holosuites? “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I’m sure this isn’t easy for you.”

It was Quark’s turn to scoff. “I don’t need your cloying pity,” he said sharply and moved down closer to Morn.

Great. He deserved that for even trying, he supposed. Quark could be as prickly as Garak under certain circumstances. He should have known better.

Miles hurried in with a grim look. After drawing close, he beckoned Julian over toward the dartboard but made no move to pick up any darts. “I can’t stay long,” he said low, glancing to be sure Quark wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

“What is it?” Julian asked. His desire for a game vanished at the tone of his voice.

“The Captain jus’ told me he’s going to evacuate all th’ station’s children. I haven’ told Keiko yet. T’ be honest, I’m dreading the conversation. It’s nothing we haven’t been talkin’ about for weeks now. It’s different when the time is here.” He quickly ran his hand down his mouth and chin. “It must mean he has somethin’ in mind, or Starfleet does.”

“Very likely,” he said, having no doubt they’d all hear about it soon. Sisko wouldn’t have told Miles something like this with a deadline for action far in the future.

“Not a word to anybody else,” he cautioned. “He said he’ll make the official announcement first thing tomorrow morning. I appreciate him givin’ us the extra time.”

“He needs you in top shape,” Julian said. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.” He reached to squeeze his shoulder. “If you need anything, you know where I am. Do you want me to get their medical records downloaded for them to take with them? We don’t know how much access Earth will have to the station if we’re forced to go silent for some reason.”

He looked relieved. “Yes. Thanks for thinkin’ of that. I doubt I would’ve.”

Julian nodded. “Let’s go then. It won’t take me long. You can take it home with you.”

They left Quark’s together making a show of talking casually about nothing of consequence. Frendel barely looked up from his work as they passed into the infirmary, used to seeing the chief with him in their off hours. As Julian promised, it took him very little time to bundle the family records and get them on a data rod.

Miles pocketed it, clapped him on the shoulder in thanks, and left. Julian disliked the tightness around his eyes. It was always difficult for him to be without Keiko and the children. How much harder would it be with the knowledge that this time, it could be indefinitely?

He shut down the console and left for the night. Although broaching the subject might be risky, as perceptive as Garak could be, he believed it was time for them to have this conversation. He couldn’t trust to chance that Garak would have the same idea he did about what to do in case the station was attacked. He’d feel better if they were on the same page.

_Private Quarters_

He found him watering and grooming the plant Keiko had given him some time ago. Not surprisingly, it had thrived in his care and was forming small lavender colored buds at the ends of some of its stalks. Garak immediately set the little watering can and dead leaves aside on the sideboard, easily reading his look.

“You’ve been careful to keep me from broaching this with you for a while now,” he said, gesturing for him to follow him to the sofa. “I appreciate your concern for me and my emotional state. We can’t put this off anymore. What do you want to do if push comes to shove, and we wind up having to leave this station or fight for its defense?”

Garak sat beside him with his hands resting in a loose curve over his own knees. “You’ve heard something,” he said. He waited for Julian to confirm. When he didn’t, the faintest trace of a smile ticked up one corner of his mouth. “Have it your way. It’s no secret my options are very limited. If I’m not allowed to leave with you and your crew mates, then I’ll have to take my chances on Bajor and hope I can catch a transport away in time. Needless to say, I’m not eager to pursue that option. If it’s a matter of fighting, you know the answer to that.”

Julian nodded. “I can’t imagine the captain would leave you behind. He’s not that kind of man. If for some unforeseen reason we do have to separate, I’m giving you my bank code. I don’t want you to argue with me about it. I’ll be serving on the Defiant. I won’t need latinum. You’ll need every resource you can get. Starfleet accounts are secure.”

The faint smile widened slightly. Garak took his hand. “I am resourceful beyond your imagining. If we get separated, you won’t have to worry about me. I won’t, however, turn down your offer. It’s sensible, and it would give you a way to know I’m alive without either of us having to risk contacting one another. Just check your account.”

He pulled him into his arms. To his amazement, he allowed it and returned the embrace rather than protesting or chiding him for sentiment. Whether it was to comfort him or because Garak needed comfort, he didn’t care. It meant everything not to be rejected. “Keep a bag packed,” he said. “Keep it in your shop. If we’re told to evacuate, the Promenade will be the main route.”

He felt his silent laughter in the hold. “What makes you think I don’t have one there already?”

He let out a soft sigh and shook his head. “Of course you do,” he said fondly and nuzzled his cheek against his sleek hair.

_Garak  
Garak’s Clothiers_

He wasn’t open for business five minutes before Leeta rushed in with an exaggerated look around to be sure she wasn’t followed. “Garak!” she said in a panicked little voice that had him checking the position of his disruptor. “It’s awful!”

He started around his counter toward her with a hand extended. “Tell me,” he said, frowning.

“Rom has decided he wants me to have a wedding dress after all,” she said, dismayed. “You can’t tell him what we did! He wants both of us to come see you later today for a consultation. Not a word, please? Act surprised.”

He suppressed his supreme irritation with her for alarming him, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Why would I be surprised you’re coming to me to talk about wedding dresses?” he asked in his most reasonable tone. “It would be more believable if I acted offended that you didn’t come earlier.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that. He has been so jumpy lately. I think deep down he’s still just a little bit nervous around you, not that I told you that.” 

It saddened him to hear it but didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t seen much of Rom at all since returning from Empok Nor. He nodded silently.

“He’ll work through it,” she offered. “I know he will. He just loves Nog so much. I think it’s encouraging that he suggested this. He wants to include you. So you’re still willing to do it?”

“I’ve been willing since the moment he told me you were engaged.” He hid his worry for them. It was both comforting and depressing to see something so joyful being planned in the midst of such uncertainty. Would they be able to marry at all before conflict erupted? Would they be able to stay together if it did? “Promise me something,” he said.

“That depends on what it is,” she said, a brow lifting.

“You’ll do whatever you must to survive what’s coming.” He felt guilty and hypocritical saying such a thing to her when she had survived the Occupation. She must have been capable. She didn’t need to hear this from him.

“Garak...” She rested her hand lightly on his chest and smoothed his tunic. “We’re not going to do this. I refuse to say anything that remotely sounds like good-bye until it’s good-bye. You know I cry far too easily, and I can’t do that on the day I’m picking out my wedding dress, can I?”

“No, I won’t hear of it.” He squeezed her hand and stepped away. “I’ll see you this afternoon, and I will be completely surprised.”

It turned into a good time, all the more enjoyable with Ziyal there and every bit as excited about the dress as Leeta and Rom. For a short time, nothing stood between him and his friends. His head swam with concepts and potential designs, especially when nothing he showed them from across the entire quadrant satisfied them both. They left him to catch up to Captain Sisko, and he allowed Ziyal to stay with him to brainstorm ideas. It was impossible to refuse her when she was so enthusiastic.

He didn’t know how soon they’d all be parting ways.

_Julian  
The Infirmary_

When the other shoe began to drop, it dropped fast, and all the potential energy built from the waiting catapulted the entire station into a frenzy of preparation. There was too much to do and not enough time to do it all, mining the wormhole entrance, evacuating the Bajorans to respect the newly minted nonaggression pact, preparing for battle. He had to trust that Garak would follow the plan they’d laid out over the past week. He had no time to try to find him, not with his duty to prepare the infirmary for casualties.

It was hard to believe that their years of drills against this time were about to be put to the test. He feared for Dax, Miles, and the rest of the Defiant crew out there exposed and unable to cloak until they could finish the minefield. He kept his emotions under wraps for Jake’s sake and his nurses. He already missed Frendel. Over the years, he’d been such a solid presence, helping him weather all manner of crises, personal and professional.

The only sign that it had begun was a deep tremor through the station and the rumble of the shields absorbing fire. It sounded like distant thunder, a mother of all storms. “Find somewhere to brace yourselves for the impacts,” he said tautly, “and be ready.”

They didn’t have long to wait. The wounded trickled in at first, head traumas from falls, burns from overloading equipment panels, a couple of green cadets in the throes of panic attacks. He organized triage and took the worst of them first. He kept a steady hand and voice, a kind eye toward calming fears. His dermal regenerator was good for many of the early injuries.

With more damage to the station came more serious cases, deep wounds from shrapnel, blunt force trauma as pieces shook loose and began to fall, crushing damage, severe burns. He barked orders as quickly as they came, using his nurses, medics, and volunteers as extensions of himself. “Put pressure on that! Don’t let up until I can get there!

“Out of the way. You can rest in the exam rooms. All of you who can walk, I need you to go to the exam rooms. Jake, lead them there! Tell everyone to stay away from the computer banks. If they blow, they’re going to spew plasma.”

He dropped to his knees next to a crewman he vaguely recognized as one Miles thought had promise. “Frezetta, right?” he asked.

The man nodded weakly, his skin pale and clammy. Walczak’s hands were crimson with blood welling through the bio-seal cloth he pressed to his gaping chest wound. He met Julian’s eyes briefly, grim. He saw the same thing he did.

“The chief speaks highly of you. I’m going to give you something to help with the pain.” He set a hypospray against the side of his neck and depressed the button.

The crewman’s stiff posture relaxed. He closed his eyes on a long exhale. Julian shook his head subtly at the nurse who pulled away, sprayed his hands with an instant sanitizer, and moved on to someone with a better chance of surviving the hour.

The shaking around them grew more violent and prolonged. He could feel the strain in the flooring. At this rate, the station was going to rip apart. The shields must have been barely holding. Lighting exploded above their heads in a rain of burning sparks and falling shards of polymer. “Take cover!” He ducked under the nearby shelter of a biobed, crowded in with many others until it became apparent the support beams weren’t next.

A red alert klaxon blared, followed by an announcement from ops crackling through the infirmary speakers. “All Starfleet personnel to docking pylon three. Evacuation protocol Alpha one seven. Repeat, all Starfleet personnel are ordered to docking pylon three. Evacuation is now in progress.”

He pushed everyone out ahead of him, maintaining order with the help of his remaining staff. When Jake hurried past him, he shoved a PADD into his hand and kept going. Unthinking, he tucked it into the medkit at his side for later. “Help anyone around you who needs it,” he called loudly. “We do this together, people. If you can’t walk, hold up your hand so I can see you!”

Working from the back exam rooms forward, he paired people strong enough to carry others with those who couldn’t make it on their own. He and Walczak were the last out. Others from different parts of the station joined them on the Promenade in an orderly stream toward the emergency stairwell. The turbolifts were offline. He couldn’t see Garak, Jake, or anyone else he was specifically looking for in the chaos and couldn’t stop with the weight of so many others pushing at his back.

A Starfleet lieutenant and a Klingon sergeant stood at the head of the airlock corridor shouting orders and sorting who belonged where. Julian fully expected to be assigned to the Defiant and wasn’t surprised. He thought he heard the Klingon shout Worf’s name in relation to Martok’s ship. It was far too chaotic to be sure.

He finally escaped the main press of crew and hustled immediately toward the bridge. It was where Captain Sisko would expect him to be when he made it aboard. “Garak, where are you?” he muttered.

_Garak  
The Promenade_

He’d said his good-byes, seeing Ziyal and later Leeta off for a transport to Bajor, and then done what he could to prevent panic during the attack. With the call for evacuation, he felt he had no choice but to do what he’d agreed, grab his pack, lock the shop, and allow himself to be swept up in the mass exodus of Starfleet officers and personnel. He felt the electric crackle of adrenaline through his system and an underlying clench of naked fear. If they refused him, he was dead. The last transport left before the firing started.

He didn’t know the lieutenant sorting people as they came. The man dead eyed him at his first request to enter the airlock, only to turn away and speak into his comm badge at his second more insistent one. “Wait here until the captain arrives,” he said curtly.

“Very well,” he said and stepped out of the way of the others coming through. He slowed his breathing, which in turn slowed the thudding of his heart and the racing of his thoughts. He could only hope Julian was either already somewhere on the Defiant or making his way there.

Once Captain Sisko arrived, things went exactly as he’d been told. He’d be allowed to stay. As long as they weren’t blown to pieces on their way out, he’d live another day. He braced himself in the corridor when the Defiant lurched. Thanks to the inertial dampeners, he couldn’t feel their acceleration, only hear it in the louder hum of the engines. 

Sisko eyed him thoughtfully. “For now, why don’t you go ahead and settle in Doctor Bashir’s quarters? I know he’ll be glad to see you on our way to the rendezvous. You know the way?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he said to his retreating back. It was such a different circumstance from his last time here. This ship had never brought him anything but ill fortune and bad tidings. He had no reason to believe this time would be any different. All he had was the thin hope that they’d find a real use for him and that he wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown fighting his own people. “I don’t want much,” he murmured dryly.

_Julian  
The Defiant Bridge_

Had he known what Jake was handing him on that PADD, what he intended, he’d have done his best to stop him. He felt the anger coming off of Sisko in waves and worried he bore part of the brunt of it. What was Jake thinking? On one hand, he had to admire the sheer brass of it. On the other, he worried deeply that the last time he’d ever see the captain’s son was already past and he bore partial responsibility for not stopping him when he had the chance.

Sisko glanced at him. “Dismissed, Doctor. I suggest you go to your quarters before anywhere else.”

What kind of dismissal was that? He frowned and nodded. “Aye, Sir.” He’d be of more use in the infirmary. They still had wounded to care for, although he imagined Schmidt already had patients in hand and Walczak would have joined her.

He took the lift down from the bridge to the officer’s deck and strode quickly down the corridor, taking the first branch and keying entry. Garak eyed him from his seat at the tiny table anchored to the flooring. “I hope you don’t mind sharing your quarters. I believe I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.”

He felt nothing but relief closing the distance between them and dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around him. They both stank of scorched plasticine and vented plasma. He didn’t care. “I can’t stay,” he said, the words muffled against his shoulder. “I have patients to tend in the infirmary. I knew you’d be all right.”

“Of course I am.” How tightly he held him hinted that might not be the truth. However, he released him before he needed to pull away and reached up to smooth his hands across his uniform. “Go. I’m sure before long, I’ll have an assignment. The space on this ship is too tight for freeloaders. Until then, I’ll be here. I don’t fancy being shot in the corridors by mistake.”

“You won’t have to worry about that for long. I’m sure Captain Sisko will let everyone know you’ve joined us to stay.” He climbed to his feet and squeezed his shoulder. “We destroyed the Dominion shipyards on Torros III. That’s why they didn’t send reinforcements. It was a joint Starfleet/Klingon attack force. We served as the distraction that allowed that to happen.”

“And lived to tell the tale,” Garak said with false brightness.

He was off. He could tell. There was nothing to be done about it for now. He had work to do. They needed as many crew standing and fit for duty as they could manage so that they could hit the ground running at the rendezvous point forty-eight hours away. It was going to be a long shift. More than that, it would likely be a long war. The only way through it would be one task at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge props and thanks to **WCDarling** for the idea of the sushi dinner. It was something fun in the midst of what turned out to be a fairly dark chapter. The story touches a little on events of “In the Cards,” and draws quite a bit from “Call to Arms.” I toyed with the idea of writing Garak into the wedding scene, ultimately discarding it because I didn’t want to reiterating dialog from the episode or shoehorn Garak somewhere he wasn’t onscreen. 
> 
> I may get the next one posted before the start of NaNoWriMo, but I may not. Work is nuts right now. Continuing this was my NaNo project last year. I’ve got something else in mind for this year. If the next one is delayed, it will post some time in December.
> 
> Lastly, I never thought we’d be saying good-bye to Nog’s sweet actor, Aron Eisenberg, so soon. He was such a huge strength of the show and so kind to fans. There is a GoFundMe account for his funeral expenses and to help his wife Malissa out. I don’t think I’m allowed to link it here, but I’m sure it will be easy to find for those so inclined.


End file.
